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J.D. blinked. “Why? You got someone you wanna lose in the bayou? Maybe the folks who left you there to die?”
Remy chuckled. “You want the job?”
J.D. nodded. “Don’t like it when someone messes with the good ones. The deputy is one of the good ones. Which I’m bettin’ you already know.”
Remy nodded. “Yes, sir. She’s one of the good guys.”
“You take good care of her.” J.D. actually shook a finger at Remy. “I don’t wanna find her face down in the bayou again.”
“I’ll do my very best,” Remy said. “I’d like her to stick around a lot longer now that I’m back in town.”
“You stayin’?” J.D. asked.
Remy nodded. “Shelby’s putting me up at her place. While she’s on medical leave, she’s going to help me find a place for my business office.”
“Good. Ain’t safe around here. Not with strangers sneaking around the bayou.” J.D. turned to Shelby. “You want me to go after those no-accounts? Make them alligator bait?”
“No. I’ll go through the legal channels to take them down,” Shelby said. “Though if you know anyone who might help me find them, I’d appreciate any information you can come up with or a name of someone who might know. Like you said, the bayou’s not safe with people like that roaming around.” She paused. “We think maybe the folks who tried to kill me could be running drugs. That’s hard to do if you don’t know your way around.”
J.D. nodded. “I still get lost when I’m not payin’ attention.”
“Know anyone down on his luck, who might have gotten sucked into drug running to earn a buck?” Shelby asked.
J.D.’s eyes narrowed. “Not right off the top of my head. But I’ll keep my ears open and let you know if I hear anything of use.”
“Same,” Mitch said. “Can’t have people afraid to go out in the bayou. It’s bad for business.”
Shelby smiled at the men. “Thank you. Anything, big or small, could help. Don’t hesitate to call me or Sheriff Bergeron.”
“I’d rather call you, Miss Taylor—Shelby,” J.D. said, his cheeks reddening again. “You’re better lookin’ than the sheriff.”
Remy laughed. “I haven’t met the sheriff, but I’m sure you’re right.”
Shelby’s cheeks turned a bright pink, and she touched a hand to her hair. “I don’t know. I feel like something the cat dragged in. Probably smell like it, too.”
“No, ma’am,” J.D. said. “You smell just fine to me and look even better.”
She patted his shoulder. “You’re too kind, J.D. I’m headed to the house, a shower and night’s sleep in my own bed, not what they call a bed in the hospital. Again, thank you for pulling me out of the bayou. I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me nothin’, Miss Shelby,” J.D. insisted.
Shelby glanced up at Remy. “Ready?”
He nodded, concerned over how pale she’d become. “Let’s go.” He hooked her arm and led her out of the store and up to where her truck was parked in the shade of a magnolia tree.
“The key’s in the driver’s side wheel well, stuck on a magnet.” She leaned her back against the old truck and closed her eyes.
Remy ran his fingers around the wheel well until he found the key, like she said, stuck on a magnet. He plucked it free and straightened. “How old is this truck? I think my grandfather had this same model.”
“It’s an antique,” Shelby said. “Sold new in 1967 with only fifty-two-thousand miles on it. I bought it off Charlie Hughes when he finally traded it in for one with an air-conditioner.”
“So, this one doesn’t have an air-conditioner?”
“No,” she said and grinned. “But the engine runs great. It’s easy to fix when something breaks, and I don’t go far in it. Now, I’d die of heat stroke if my service vehicle didn’t have a working AC unit.”
Remy walked around the truck, looked under the chassis and checked beneath the hood for any signs of tampering or explosives. As he slid the key into the door and twisted, he made a note to himself to have Hank get his truck to him ASAP. “I don’t think I’ve used a key to open a vehicle door in a decade. You really should consider upgrading to a model manufactured in this century.”
“Have a little respect. I can do most of the work on it myself.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Do you own a truck?”
